Special-Not Special.

Special.

People tell me I’m special. They insist on it. It’s been this way as far back as I can remember. Family, teachers, friends, colleagues, strangers. They claim I’m different, unique, exceptional. The most potent descriptor of all: destined for greatness. It’s a theme that runs through my life.

These statements are true insofar as I believe them. I think I’m special. I feel that I am special. I believe I am special. Still I falter. Specialness gets me no further than the confines of my double sized bed in my mother’s spare room, or perhaps occasionally, the company and care of a star-struck individual willing to extend themselves for someone they believe in. It’s an embarrassing state of affairs for someone the world has so obviously dubbed an exceptional person dubs gifted.

Therefore my perception of being “special” is a mixed bag. A blessing and a curse, with the curse aspect of it winning out in my life as of late. I’m special and I’m a failure. At least by my own account. They say your own opinion is the only one that matters, so if that’s the case, I’m the authority here, and that’s just what I’ve got to report. Special; a curse. When you’re special you should do better, not worse. Bathing in the cauldron of ego-boiling thought, the view that I’ve had many advantages over others and I’ve still managed to fuck up so badly, is like a pitchfork to the kidneys. Good times.

Confusion. That’s what it amounts to for me, is confusion. Why wouldn’t it? How can a person have so many people tell them these kinds of things throughout their life and end up in such a morbidly failing set of circumstances.

Special failure. A contradiction in my mind. Special people shouldn‘t fail. Those two things don’t fit together. Not like special people don’t end up falling on their faces. Shit, it happens all the time. Two recent examples: Tiger Woods and John Edwards. I hear their stories. Honestly, I know I’d have performed as ignominiously as they did if were I in their positions. So I listen to what they have to say, and others’ assessments of their fall from grace. Listen, observe, think, compare, critique, analyze, and discern just what the fuck is going on with me in my life. Learn.

A few years back I read a book on the topic named “Why Smart People Do Dumb Things.” My take away: arrogance, narcissism, hubris, and an unconscious need to fail all contribute to the fall of exceptional people. Reading the book didn’t do anything to change my behavior – just give me more insight into a baffling question (that being “Why do smart people do dumb things?”). Fancy words, quaint concepts. This mind requires something simpler than that it would seem. Something more utilitarian.

So I listen. I wait. I question. I examine. I consider. I pick this thing apart until some kind of logical explanation comes along that fits the bill. And recently, I think I hooked a new piece to the puzzle of self.

Not Special.

A thought occurred to me in puzzling through this mystery. “It’s not the ‘I’m special’ part you have a problem with; it’s the ‘I’m not special’ part you have a problem with.”

To put this in context, all are one. We are all unique and special, and therefore, none of us are unique and special. It’s both; we’re both. It’s a mystery of sorts. Paradoxical. Circular thinking providing very few upon on a cursory glance. This requires insight, experience, to make the matter clearer.

Essentially we human beings are dual-natured: unique and not unique. I have not been doing a bang up job of being responsible in/for the latter.

Let me say this again: It’s the “I am not special” part I have a problem with. I resist it. Refuse to accept it. Put it out of me. Fight it. Deny it. Turn a blind eye to. Even just thinking about it literally brings up images or an angry demonic entity writhing in pain, wrath, and flames. It’s pretty funny when you think about it in those terms, but trust me it is not funny when it is confronted. At least not to me. It is hell. It is being taken over and consumed, directed, and used.

I’m aware of this. I acknowledge it. The next step is being willing to accept it.

I’ll meditate on this.

“Humanity cover me with the ashes of remembrance. I will learn from this pain.” ~ “Life To Lifeless,” Killswitch Engage